


dead boy walking

by ivan



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Multi, an au where the bomb didnt go off lmao, rated m for a chapter where sex things will happen, there will be some gayness between ronnie and mac
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:58:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/ivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the bomb didn't go off. some things changed, others didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dead boy walking

**Author's Note:**

> a v quick thing i started scribbling down during the philosophy class and finished during the ancient history class. basically the bomb didn't go off and veronica will have to face the consequences of it, in 4 short chapters.

The bomb didn't go off. The counter counted down to zero, beeped – giving the bomb an additional second – and that was it.  
There should be an explosion. There should be smoke.  
But there was nothing.  
After a while – a long while, filled with confused silence and quick, sharp breaths and staring at each other – Veronica laughed. Her laughter was loud and humorless and filled with exasparation; she sat on the ground and – still laughing – covered her face with her pale, shaking hands.  
Jason wasn't laughing. Instead, he quietly sat down next to her, close, too close.  
She finally stopped lauging and straightened her back and looked at him, avoiding his eyes.  
Her thoughts were a mess. They were too loud and too quick and in the end they were completely and absolutely fruitless.  
“So, that's it?”, she asked. “No grand finale?”  
“That's not how I planned this.”, he admitted and sighed, like a weary soldier, tired of the war he was ordered to fight. “You can always shoot me dead.”, he added casually.  
“We ran out of bullets.”  
Veronica shook her head.  
“So, strangle me, perhaps?”  
“Sorry, JD.”  
She got up and absentmindedly noted her knees were shaking.  
“I'm not in the mood. I have a headache.”  
***  
Cops arrived one hour later. Veronica was sitting in her room – her dark hair was wet and sticking to her scalp and she was smelling like blueberries and was wrapped in her favorite, fluffy bathrobe.  
She was so calm she felt like a dead person.  
“Are you Veronica Sawyer?”, the lady cop asked her; she was a plump, pink woman with short, blonde curls and some banal, cliché name, like Tracy.  
Veronica nodded in response. The cop – and her patron, an even more pink, very round man – looked at Veronica impatiently, briefly glancing at the bruised skin of her neck.  
Veronica shuddered and tightened the fluffy wrapping of her robe. She then cleared her throat.  
“Yes. I am Veronica Sawyer.”  
“And how well do you know Jason Dean?”  
She sighed. Remained silent for a while, collected her dead, emotionless thoughts. Banged her fingers at the table.  
“He's my boyfriend.”, she finally said. “Well. Ex-boyfriend now. But we were... Pretty close.”  
She shoot them a forced, tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes, trying to not think about the nights they spent together. And days and all the time in-between.  
“We'll get to that later. But now... Lat's talk about what happened today.”  
They asked her countless questions, she gave them countless answers, all of them true – at least until they started asking all the wrong questions.  
“Miss Sawyer, how did yhou know about Jason's plan to blow up the school?”  
“He told me.”  
“Why?”  
“Because he thought I'm dead.”  
They exchanged surprised looks and leaned towards her. Tracy – or Whatshername – cleared her throat and Veronica looked at her impassively.  
“I faked my own death.”, she clarified. “By hanging. It's a thing I can do.”  
“But... Why?”, the male policeman asked.  
“I... Was scared. I panicked. I guess I wanted to see his reaction.”  
“Why were you scared of Jason, Veronica?”, Whatshername asked gently.  
“We had an... Argument. A big one. He wanted things I didn't want to give to him.”  
Veronica shrugged, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.  
“We both said some things we didn't mean. And I... Overreacted.”  
The cops exchanged puzzled looks and returned to questioning her. How would she describe Jason's personality? (Fucked up) Was he a good student? (Fuck no) How did the others treat him? (Same as he treated them) How was his relationship with his father? (His mother killed herself because of that man) How was he treating her? (His fingers were nimble and gentle and contrasted beautifully with her dark skirt)  
Nothing about Heather or Kurt or Ram. Her pulse and breath quickened. Did they know? Or were they oblivious to everything?  
“That's all we wanted to know.”  
Whatshername closed her little notebook.  
“Thank you for your cooperation, miss Sawyer.”  
“Do I have to press charges?”  
She said that without thinking and Whatshername furrowed her brow, staring her down.  
Pressing charges seemed like a right thing to do. A reasonagle thing. Something she'd be expected to do. But good Lord, she was too tired for the reasonable and expected.  
“Attempted murder is among Jason's many crimes.”, Whashername slowly replied.  
“I want to drop the charges. Do I talk to you? Do I talk to his lawyer?”  
“But why do you want to drop the charges, miss Sawyer?”  
“His lawyer it is then.”  
***  
She did, after all, strike a deal with Jason's lawyer; a very beige, bland man. It was a simple deal – she drops the charges and he takes JD far away, to different state.  
She knew he can do that; after all, JD was a tormented, white boy, who attempted to blow up his school. He wasn't the first and he wasn't the last.  
That night Veronica dreamt of cigarette ash and slushies colored red with blood and smoke.  
***  
Mac came over to visit the next day, all proper and yellow and warm. She brought a box of lemon cookies – she made them all by herself, as she proudly announced. They were perfectly round and tasted like Veronica imagined pastel yellow would taste.  
“So, Ronnie, how are you holding up?”, Mac asked when they went upstairs with big mugs of chamonile tea.  
“Honestly? I have no clue.”  
“I can imagine.”, Mac chuckled quietly. “One hell of a week.”  
“Hell is a good word, yeah.”  
They sat in complete silence for a moment and Veronica put her head on Mac's shoulder and sighed heavily. Mac glanced at her and smiled and petter her hair with her free hand.  
“Boys are so fatally dumb, Mac.”, Veronice complained, her words muffled by the lemon cookie in her mouth. “I thought I saw it all, but this? I am out of words. In what universe blowing up a school solves any problem at all?!”  
“In his own universe, apparently.”  
“Yeah.”  
She put down her mug on the floor and laid on her back, staring at the ceiling. Mac joined her and they just laid there in silence for a while, observing cracks in the wood.  
“Let's give up boys.”, Mac finally said after a while, not looking at Veronica. “I know what Jason did was like super extreme, but let's take a break from them anyway.”  
“No, I agree. Let's be exclusively into girls. And dogs.”  
Mac grinned and giggled and Veronica switched to lying on her side, watching Mac's delicate profile.  
“Just you and me and Martha. A girls-only club.”  
“That sounds fun, let's do that.”  
Mac turned her head and gave Veronica a quick kiss on hear forehead. She then got up and collected their mugs.  
“I'll make more tea.”, she announced and left and Veronica stayed on her bed, looking at how gracefully Heather moved when she was in a good mood.  
***  
Everything happened exactly as Veronica predicted – JD's lawyer managed to somehow convince everyone Jason didn't deserve a severe punishement and instead should just move away, as far from Sherwood as possible, without leaving the country at the same time.  
She came to say goodbye; accidentally she was wearing the same clothes she wore when they first met. Her wrist was decorated with a delicate bracelet made out of plastic buttercups; a small gift Mac gave her one day earlier.  
They were sitting on the grass in front of JD's soon-to-be-old house, as his father was putting their stuff inside a truck.  
“They told me you dropped the charges.”  
“Yeah. I did.”  
She wasn't looking at him and she could feel how intensively he was staring at her.  
“Why?”  
“Because if you ended up in jail, I would know where you ended up. And this way... No idea. Gone from my life. Forever.”  
He laughed and – even though she wasn't looking at him – she knew he's smirking in that special way, reserved only for her.  
“I still have your adress, you know.”  
“Cool. I don't care.”  
His father called out for him; he was done packing and it was time for them to move. To leave.  
Disappear.  
When JD got up and walked up to the truck, Veronica finally looked at him. Hands in his pockets, a nonchalant grin, standing in a way that was creating an aura of carelessness and dominance; nothing had changed.  
As if feeling her gaze on his back he turned around.  
“One last kiss?”, he suggested and she laughed and shook her head.  
“In your dreams, Jason.”  
“Oh you'll be there. And hopefully I'll be in your dreams as well.”  
He sighed. Put his hands deeper in his pockets and shrugged and looked around the neighbourhood and once again looked at her.  
“So, this is it. Tell Mac I said hi. And... Bye.”  
And just like that, they were both gone, Jason and his father. Veronica remained sitting on the ground for some time after that, looking around, playing with her bracelet; she then went home. Ate dinner her mother prepared for her. Read a book, took a shower. Went to bed, dreamed of smoke and screams and bullets.   
Life kept going on.


End file.
